


The American Kids

by undersail2013



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Americans at Hogwarts, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Hufflepuff Dean, M/M, Ravenclaw Castiel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, prefect Castiel, quidditch star Dean Winchester, roughly correlates to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2174904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undersail2013/pseuds/undersail2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ve been hoping to talk to you sooner or later.”<br/>“You have?”<br/>“Yeah, you’re one of the Americans.  I already know the other Hufflepuff and the three Slytherins, but you…”<br/>“…What about me?”<br/>“I dunno,” Dean shrugs again.  He smiles, and it’s oddly shy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The American Kids

“I don’t get why my plant is dying. I should ask Professor Sprout if there’s a spell or a charm to-”

“Raxacoricofallapatorius,” says a voice beside him.

Dean pauses, slowly turns to face the Ravenclaw at his right. “Gesundheit.”

The guy blushes and it’s definitely not adorable. “Sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop. It’s a spell to make plants thrive.”

“Oh.” Dean blinks. “Okay. Run that by me one more time?”

“We’ll see you, Dean.” His friends walk away, and one of them nudges him roughly as they elbow past. He means to toss them a parting wave but it falls flat.

“‘Raxacoricofallapatorius.’ It’s not actually magic. It’s _Doctor Who_.”

“That’s that muggle show, right?”

The prefect’s jaw goes rigid at the word. “Yes.” But he tilts his head and scrunches up his eyes. “Wait, you’re muggleborn, too, though.”

“Mudblood,” he mutters, and watches amused as the guy’s big blue eyes go wide and maybe a bit worried.

“You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that!” he hisses.

Dean shrugs. “They say it behind my back if I don’t say it to their faces. Hi, I’m Dean.”

“I know,” he mumbles, taking Dean’s hand to shake. Bolder, he replies, “I’m Castiel. But everyone just calls me Cas.”

“Cas,” Dean echoes. He scoops up their two Herbology books, as well as a handful of soil instruments that their classmates left behind when the bell tolled for lunch. “I’ve been hoping to talk to you sooner or later.” 

“You have?”

“Yeah, you’re one of the Americans. I already know the other Hufflepuff and the three Slytherins, but you…”

“…What about me?”

“I dunno,” Dean shrugs again. He drops the instruments in the bucket on their way out. He smiles, and it’s oddly shy. “Where you from?”

“Illinois. Pontiac.”

“I’m from Lawrence, Kansas. We’re practically neighbors!”

Cas looks at him askance.

“Well, compared to the others.” They fall into an easy silence as they walk back to the castle, towards the Great Hall. At the door, Dean solemnly hands Cas his textbook, his bright eyes never leaving Cas’ face. “I’ll see you in Divination, then,” and he rushes away, ostensibly to find his captain.

“Wait, how did you know I-?” Cas starts to ask, but Dean’s gone. He slowly makes his way to his usual seat at Rowena’s table.

Dean spends the whole lunch hour trying not to look his way.

Dean fails miserably.

 

~~~

 

“The grim again, huh?” asks a voice behind Cas as he gathers his teacup and utensils. It’s Dean; Cas stifles a grin. “Pretty sure Trelawney’s going for the world record for doomsaying.”

“Yeah, except that kid has the roughest luck,” he replies calmly. “Have you always been in this class period?”

“Yup." They head out the door but stop in a window alcove to let the students leaving behind them get past.

“Why are you talking to me now?”

Dean looks hurt. “Should I not?”

“No, no, that’s not what I-” Cas takes a breath. “I mean, we’re in most of the same classes, right?”

Dean smiles enigmatically.

“What?”

“You noticed.”

“You’re a Quidditch star. You’re not exactly inconspicuous.”

“True,” he laughs. “But you, you’re the brightest wizard in a hundred years. Everyone says so.”

Cas doubts that. “Everyone?” 

“Everyone.” Dean lifts his one shoulder and looks away, and Cas definitely does not understand why someone like Dean Winchester should act shy. “What can I have to say to a guy like that?”

Cas softens. “Are you going out to watch the meteor shower tonight?”

“Um. I have ten inches to write for DADA, but that’s not due until Friday.”

“Is that a yes?” Cas asks, raising one eyebrow.

Dean ducks his head. “Yeah. It’s a date.”

Cas beams. “Great. I’ll meet you outside the Great Hall after dinner.

 

~~~

 

Dean’s hair is still a little damp, and he smells of woodsy aftershave. Cas has a thick blanket slung over one arm. It looks like he actually combed that bird’s nest he calls hair.

“Hey you,” Dean grins. “You ready?”

In answer, Cas lifts the arm with the blanket.

They follow the crowd out to the grounds. It’s mostly Ravenclaws and whatever friends or significant others they could convince to lie in the wet, buggy grass on a school night. Most do have something in the way of a blanket or mat, though, and no one with a decent bug-repellent charm is likely to suffer too much out of doors.

Cas spreads the blanket and fluffs it in such a way that it springs up full like a pillow.

“Neat trick, Cas,” Dean remarks as he seats himself.

“It’s a simple spell I devised after last year’s meteor shower.”

“How’s it work?” Dean asks as they lie back to watch the skies.

Cas turns to stare at Dean as if appraising him. “Are you asking to be polite, or are you genuinely curious? Because I could draw you a graph-”

Dean laughs. “I’m no good with spell mechanics! I just meant, is there an incantation to go with it? Is it a special blanket?”

“Ah. Yes. There are words, but you’ll laugh.”

“I won’t.” He catches Cas’ eye and holds it, not a trace of jest visible.

Cas hesitates. “Yes, I think you will.

“I promise, I really won’t.” When Cas still says nothing, Dean dares him. “Try me.”

“Okay. It’s, um, ‘fluffy pillow.’”

Dean blinks. “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“No Latin, no goofy rhymes, no-”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

Cas turns his face to the heavens. Dean still can’t see any shooting stars.

“Spell-making is really not so arcane as books would have us believe. I probably write a new spell every month or so. And I’m just learning.” He glances at Dean, then flinches. “What?”

“What what” Dean asks, blinking again.

“You were staring at me, like-”

“Like you’re fucking brilliant,” he whispers.

“Not really.”

“You are.” And he smiles, like, oh like he hasn’t been completely in love with Cas for years. _Dammit, Dean._ “Brilliant and interesting, and, and fucking beautiful, Cas.”

Cas doesn’t answer, looks away. Dean’s sure he’s blown it. _Too fast, abort, abort._ He wants to run back to the castle and hide in the common room until Christmas. But then Cas looks back at Dean, for a long minute, as if he’s trying to decide what to say. _How best to get Dean to go away, like now-ish._ And Dean’s frozen to the spot, pinned down by those goddamn eyes.

“Dean.”

“I’m sorry, Cas, I shouldn’t have-”

“Shh,” and kisses him. “Shh.” He pulls himself onto his elbow, slides a hand under Dean’s head, kisses him again.

Dean melts. How could he not? Their free hands intertwine, and Dean brings them to rest on his chest as he and Cas kiss under the stars.

Speaking of. “Hey Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” Cas pants, pulling away, but not too far.

“I, uh, I think we’re in the wrong spot to watch your meteor shower.”

Without looking up to judge for himself, Cas asks, “Did you want to watch the meteor shower?”

“Um,” Dean breathes. He shakes his head lightly and grins like a dork. “This is better.”

Cas hums coyly against Dean’s smile as their lips meet again.


End file.
